


Well-Used

by Mazeem



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: (briefly) - Freeform, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Cock Slut, Exhibitionism, Leather Kink, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Light Masochism, Multi, Naked Male Clothed Female, Overstimulation, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Power Play, Public Blow Jobs, Spitroasting, Sub Jaskier | Dandelion, Top Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Vaginal Sex, Verbal Humiliation, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:34:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27023605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazeem/pseuds/Mazeem
Summary: "One more?" Geralt asks."Yes," Jaskier replies, quick and eager. He can’t tell from Geralt’s voice who’s waiting, and the handcuffs clatter as his hands automatically try to remove the blindfold. He doesn’t like not knowing. Except for when he does, fine, that’s why they’re here, but right now he’s positively itching with curiosity. Who could change Geralt's mind in an instant?--Jaskier is on show in  a sex dungeon, and he receives an unexpected visitor.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 2
Kudos: 73





	Well-Used

**Author's Note:**

> First Witcher fic ever, I hope I'm doing it right??

Jaskier's been handcuffed to this pole for what feels like _decades_. There's dried cum all over his body, and his arse is one big dull ache. 

He’s blindfolded and gagged, and the seemingly endless sight deprivation has combined with tiredness to make him oversensitive to the space around him. Voices are very loud; chatting, calling to each other, groans and moans. The smells are strong too; sweat and sex and leather, the odd splash of alcohol, the even rarer not-really-allowed-down-here sweet-ish smell of hash. His mouth tastes of cum and boot polish and a little bit of piss. It’s been a busy night, is what he’s saying. 

He taps the handcuffs against the metal pole, and the clear _ting_ brings his dom immediately to his side. 

"All right?" Geralt puts one hand lightly on Jaskier's side. There's a welt there that Jaskier hadn't noticed until Geralt’s touch lit up the nerves. He's not sure when it's from. There's been a lot of whipping. A lot of everything. 

The bright shock of pain jolts him awake, and he hurriedly straightens his posture. He doesn’t want Geralt to think he’s _weak!_

He'd meant to ask to be freed, ending the enjoyable evening before he embarrasses himself, but instead his pricked pride makes him merely ask, instead, 

"Water, please?"

Geralt's good at this bit too, as well as everything else he's good at; he tips the delicious water carefully into Jaskier's mouth and pins him back against the pole with a firm grip when Jaskier tries to gulp too much too fast. He's so fucking thirsty. He should definitely have asked for water earlier. Oops. 

"Few more minutes," Geralt says. His voice has that flat, dismissive tone to it. He doesn't expect Jaskier to protest. It's immediately all Jaskier wants to do, of course, but he's too damn tired for the thankless effort. 

"All right," he says instead. With a grunt, Geralt moves in close and lets Jaskier lean against him. Jaskier nuzzles his muscular shoulder and his chest hair, and breathes in his familiar smell. His silver hair is loose, and it brushes pleasantly against Jaskier's sensitive skin.

This position is comforting, in a way that Jaskier doesn't want to admit to, and certainly not with words. He hopes Geralt will want serviced in some way, once the handcuffs come off. He could bear another cock up his sore arse if it was Geralt's. Or maybe Geralt'll let him suck him off.

That's a really, really nice idea.

Nice is a terrible word, but he's tired. His brain keeps trying to give him 'cozy' as an alternative, which really is ridiculous for a blowjob.

Anyway. Words aside, the thought of slurping up Geralt's cock wakes a low smouldering heat in his belly. He'd thought he'd hollowed himself out, but maybe he could come again after all. 

Then Geralt makes a low noise of surprise that rumbles through his chest. Jaskier automatically opens his eyes, even though all he sees is the thick blackness of the blindfold.

"One more?" Geralt asks. 

"Yes," Jaskier replies, quick and eager. He can’t tell from Geralt’s voice who’s waiting, and the handcuffs clatter as his hands automatically try to remove the blindfold. He doesn’t like not knowing. Except for when he does, fine, that’s why they’re here, but right now he’s positively itching with curiosity. Who could change Geralt's mind in an instant?

Geralt sighs for some reason, and to Jaskier's great surprise, he starts to untie the blindfold. 

"Didn't ask for that, did I, Geralt?" Familiar voice. Female. Most voices are familiar in here, though, so that doesn't help his sluggish mind.

Geralt chuckles. “You like to be looked at.” 

Ooh, Jaskier thinks, as Geralt picks at the sweat-soaked knot of the blindfold. Geralt showing emotion. Geralt showing knowledge of another’s likes and dislikes. 

"Careful." Fond, yet commanding. 

Was it ...

And then his blindfold falls away. For a moment his brain garbles the messages and all he can see is dark fuzziness.

Then Yennefer of Vengerberg materialises in his next blink, and he forgets how to breathe. 

Nudity is commonplace in here, with people of all positions and preferences generally considering shorts as a full outfit. Jaskier hasn't particularly viewed his entirely bare form as a direct element of his subservient role in here - until now. 

Yennefer is fully dressed. Oh, how she's dressed. Dressed for the _occasion_. 

She's got a short leather waistcoat over a long black basque that makes her boobs look huge, and her legs are clad in supple leather trousers. Her hair is long and loose, and it shines under the dim lights. 

Her boots are heavily studded and decorated, but very well-worn despite their lack of practicality. He feels simultaneously exhausted and exhilarated at the thought of how long it might take to get those boots polished suitably. His tongue aches at the thought. 

She’s giving him such a delicious, piercing, scathing look that Jaskier barely needs to check her flagging, but he does so anyway; looking for someone new to command. 

Yum. Yes. Please. 

Seeing Geralt duck his head, just a little, only makes Jaskier feel smaller and more exposed. 

And also wakes his cock up some more. Oh, the coin he would pay to see Geralt under Yennefer’s hand. Tongue? Whip? Why does he not know more about this?

Yennefer prowls up to him like a panther, and inserts several gloved fingers straight into his stupidly gaping mouth. 

"Doing all right there, Julian?"

That name sends a complicated jolt of emotions through Jaskier. That's not very fair. 

Still, he should probably have expected that she liked a bit of humiliation. 

"Ready and willing," he says, straightening his stance even though it makes his shoulders hurt. And his back. And his arse. It makes his everywhere hurt, but that's irrelevant, he's not showing any bloody weakness now. Geralt’s fuss would have been bad enough. Yennefer .. she’s got no time for coddling. 

"Oh, how sweet." She pats his cheek then slides her hand into his hair and pulls it firmly. His knees wobble despite his best efforts. He hears the familiar, loudly telegraphed jingle of Geralt handing over the handcuff keys and wonders what position she'll want him in.

Instead, once she's freed his hands, she grabs his shoulders and shakes him, hard. He stares at her, unnerved. Barely able to keep his footing, if he's honest. 

Her iron grip on his shoulders helps settle him. Something to lean against. 

"Hm. You're pretty used up." 

“I’m not!”

She rolls her eyes at Geralt, ignoring Jaskier completely. She pops the key into her trouser pocket, and as his eyes follow, he realises that she's strapped on. It looks big, but then they always do without the softer moulding of flesh around them. 

He finds himself licking his lips. He wouldn't mind that, either. He could surely put up with the complaints of his body for the experience of her focused energy. 

She laughed. A hard sound. Beautiful amethyst eyes piercing him like daggers. "Oh, you think you're getting that, do you?" She pushes him. Flailing but unable to break the grip on his shoulders, he stumbles backwards, step by step. "I think I'd kill you if I fucked you now, bard."

Worth it, he thinks giddily, just as the back of his legs make contact with something soft.

"Sit."

He does as he was told. Geralt would definitely mock him for that later. He cranes his neck around, trying to find the witcher. For all his excitement, he feels real unease about being left alone with her. 

"Eyes on me."

His neck hurt as he tilts it up. From this angle she towers over him. 

"Can you get hard again?"

He follows her gaze and looks down at his flopping, half-full cock. 

Can I?

"Of course." He makes a grab for it, then freezes and looks up at her. Is that right? Is she that strict? Is she a top, or a domme, hard or soft? He is _so_ unprepared. Geralt is getting an earful about this later. 

She sighs and pulls his hair again. An idle, painful yank. "Get on with it. Follow the orders I give you, not whatever else you know."

It doesn't take too long for his cock to rise again under his own rough handling, but he's satisfied to see it, anyway. 

She snorts. "Young ones, hey, Geralt?"

Jaskier bristles. "I'm not-"

"Oh, I _am_ sorry, average lifespan." She laughs. The mocking tone slid straight off him, though, because he sees what she's doing. Sees why the dildo she's got strapped on looks quite so big; there's only one layer of fabric there. like old-fashioned hose, her leather trousers fasten to each leg separately, leaving the crotch bare. She hooks her dark underwear aside and unceremoniously settles onto his lap. 

He drags in a breath, head swimming, attention still drawn despite her earlier words to the shaft jutting up between them. He tries to roll his hips forwards so that she can fuck him, but she boxes his ears. 

Then she shifts again, and before his mind has caught up his body has _absolutely_ caught up, his poor battered cock rejoicing in her hot, tight, wet grip.

"No," she says, sharp and mean, when he tries to push up with his hips. She grabs his wrists and leans her weight on them, pinning them to the cushion underneath them. "Stay still." She grinds down on him and groans. 

Time passes, then, and all of it is torture. She releases his hands in favour of stroking his back and chest, digging her nails into all his impact marks, pinching his nipples until he yelps.

The difference in their state of dress becomes steadily more frustrating. She has access to every single part of him, and he can only watch her covered chest rising and falling in front of his gaze, their shared perspiration sliding into her cleavage. Can only imagine what those might look like, bare and mobile. He imagines the sort of nipples that he likes best, the big puffy ones, dark as loam, and the thought of those tipping plump, beautiful mounds makes him buck his hips again despite his best efforts. He gets another box to his ears. 

Tit-notised, he thinks, and bits his lip to avoid a fairly hysterical laugh. Good tavern line. Does that rhyme with anything?

She keeps going, grinding out her own pleasure while holding his away. If he hadn't come so much earlier, this wouldn't be so drawn-out. He can't figure out if that's good or not. Can't work much out, to be fair. 

His head lolls to one side, and to his delight his gaze falls upon Geralt. He's stood to one side, yanking at his cock pulled unceremoniously from his battered trousers.

Jaskier whines at the sight of it, and before he even has time to feel embarrassed about that, Geralt has walked up to the seat and gently used Jaskier's hair to tilt his head into just the right position. 

"Needy," he says. The tone sounds careless, but Jaskier knows him much better than that, and the fondness that he hears makes Jaskier's insides go all warm and gooey. 

Jaskier tries to think of a response but long before anything comes to mind, Geralt's cock slides warm and thick and moist into his mouth. He sucks on it shallowly and makes a silly, happy sound, before looking up at Geralt, relaxing his throat and sliding down.

It isn’t like Geralt could stop Yennefer turning his insides into mush if he displeases her, but nonetheless, having Geralt’s looming presence right there is wonderfully, embarrassingly reassuring. 

He relaxes a bit, after that. Yennefer’s movements don't make him feel quite so desperate and deprived now that he has something else to do. Still, he'd really like a feel of those boobs. 

He paws at her chest with clumsy fingers. In response she grabs his head and pulls him off Geralt's pulsing cock and jams his forehead against her collarbone. He mouths mindlessly at her soft, warm, salty skin. Tries to stick his tongue down the shadowed valley of her cleavage, but to no avail. 

She laughs. She sounds almost as breathless as he is. But then again, he's lost count of the number of times she's come on his cock. "Maybe if we meet again, little Julian, I'll wear something it's easier to get them out of, hm? Would you like that?"

He nods dumbly. Then he feels Geralt's cock rub against his cheek, and automatically he cranes his aching neck to have it again. Geralt comes just as Jaskier starts to suck, but stays pushed into his mouth. It's ... nice. A little messy, maybe, but nice. 

Vocabulary? Gone. Nice, soft, warm. That's about as much as he can manage. 

"Good boy." Yennefer’s voice is almost soft, then, which is frankly terrifying, and her fingers in his hair merely pet him. Then she changes what she's doing to something more suited to his stimulation and he loses all his air, watches her leather-clad thighs bunch and release until his eyes roll up.

It takes no time at all to come. It's almost painful, it's gone on so long. Makes him shake and quiver all over, brings more sweat to prickling life all over him and even though he's utterly naked he's so hot that he wishes he could peel his skin off. 

(Don’t think that too loudly next to a sorceress, for fuck’s sake.)

She stands up and tucks her underwear back into place, looks at Geralt once in some unreadable manner, and walks away without further ado. 

Geralt sits down next to him, and pulls Jaskier into an embrace. They can do that, as long as they don’t call attention to it. It’s good. Jaskier needs a cuddle. And a sleep. And about seven baths. 

“Told you I could do one more,” he burbles. Geralt grunts and tightens his grip. Only Geralt can make a hug say _Shut up_.


End file.
